


The Galactic Misadventures of Gary Goodspeed

by orphan_account



Series: Gary's Galactic Misadventures [2]
Category: Final Space (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Quinn does not exist in this universe, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: With the Lord Commander dead, Avocato and Gary attempt eke out a living as a freelance galactic smuggling service. An old friend hires the crew for one last shady job, and things go to shit. As usual.Set a few months after the events of the 1st fic in the series.
Relationships: Avocato/Gary Goodspeed
Series: Gary's Galactic Misadventures [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586860
Comments: 34
Kudos: 66





	1. Prologue: Gary Gets Arrested

“ _Liberty is worth paying for.”_ -Jules Verne

Hundreds of years ago, navigators looked up at the stars in the sky, back before the night sky was shrouded by a heavy veil of light pollution. The clouds would clear, and then they would look up at the constellations. The brighter humans noticed that the stars could tell them a lot about their confusing world. They would use them to navigate across perilous oceans, use the stars as a compass, or even use the position of the stars as a calendar. Now and then, humans would wonder--what if they could explore the sky itself? 

So they did. At first, intersolar travel was a new frontier. After solar travel became mundane and technology advanced, humans hopped on ships to the Alpha Centauri system. The Alpha Centauri system has three stars, and they are pretty close to our solar system, even with sublight engines. 

Before the invention of the lightfold engine, traveling to the nearest star system was a sacrifice--imagine a transit time of five and a half years with no return ticket to Earth. It was no picnic. Still, humans are stubborn bastards. Within a few short generations, enough idiots were suckered into going to the barren exoplanets orbiting the stars in the Alpha Centauri system to establish permanent colonies. 

Imagine spending all that time peering out of the windows of a cattle-cart of a ship, telling yourself ‘this is absolutely going to be worth it,’ for more than five years, only to realize (far too late) that the Public Relations team for the Alpha Centauri missions were far too good at their jobs. 

The most habitable planet in the system was a barren hellscape, filled with icy crevasses and hot springs filled with deadly extraterrestrial pathogens. The planet (bitterly named Newearth by its inhabitants) did have oodles of gold, platinum, and water, along with enough Helium-3 to fuel ships on return trips to Earth… But one thing was certain--it wasn’t pleasant at all to live there. Colonists swiftly became indentured servants living from one breath of air to the next. The working conditions were terrible. If you scraped past 50, you were positively ancient. 

As you can imagine, the planet became a penal colony once beings in the solar system cottoned on to the fact that actually living in the stars _sucked._ Newearth became the Australia of the human extrasolar habitation movement--a cesspool of scum and villainy. 

Where villainy goes, banks follow. The improperly named ‘Bank of Orion’ was established on Newearth, and it swiftly became a gleaming beacon for entrepreneurial tax evaders. Why put your money in off-planet accounts on Ganymede when you could wire your money to Alpha Centauri? 

Over time, the richest douchebags of the solar system ended up fleeing to Alpha Centauri with enough ill-gotten gains to enjoy living in the backwater system. Alpha Centauri was the greatest thing to happen to unscrupulous members of the bourgeoisie since the invention of slavery and indulgences. 

Everything changed once humans figured out how to make lightfold engines. Humans like to say that they discovered them, just like how other intelligent species across the galaxy developed them independently. The reality was some poor intergalactic hick carried the wrong number during its calculations, warping their ship into one of the jagged mountains of Newerth. This was unfortunate for its crew, but excellent for humankind. 

Once Newearth residents stripped down the ship and reverse-engineered the tech, Alpha Centauri transformed from “disgusting dive” to “disgusting dive with ships that have interstellar capabilities.” The Bank of Orion patented the engines, guarded its secrets zealously, and became absurdly filthy rich. 

By the time Gary Goodspeed was born, traveling to Alpha Centauri was expensive, but priced like any reasonable airplane ticket. By the time he was twenty-six, Gary Goodspeed knew that Alpha Centauri was still a haven for fugitives. He also knew a guy who had this cousin, who had this friend…and that ‘friend’ would shuttle wanted fugitives from Earth to Alpha Centauri. For a price, of course.

Gary was counting on that ride off Earth, because he was about to pull off one last heist. He came up with the idea after watching _Ocean’s 217_. Heist movies hadn’t changed much over the centuries, as Hollywood ran out of ideas hundreds of years earlier. 

He decided to rob a casino. To his credit, Gary did his homework. He studied the floorplans, the vault designs, who came and went when. He even learned how to flip through mazes of lasers. 

When Gary finally made his move, he tranquilized five guards by dosing their coffee, pickpocketed two managers with high-level access keycards, and then he entered the back rooms with the keycards that he had stolen. Everything went according to plan, but luck was not on his side. 

An off-duty cop saw him throw a duffel’s worth of electronic bearer bonds onto his motorbike as he left the casino. The off-duty cop knew that the duffel was full of electronic bearer bonds because the zipper ripped at an inopportune time, spilling most of the bag’s contents onto the ground of the parking lot. 

One lively high-speed chase into a shipyard later, Gary decided to try piloting an Infinity Guard cruiser to escape. I mean, how hard could it be? 

Apparently pretty hard. When Gary tried to start the ship’s engines, he blew up a shipyard’s worth of Infinity Guard Cruisers. By the time he was apprehended, Gary blew up sixty-two space cruisers and one family-owned Italian restaurant. 

That is how Gary Goodspeed was arrested and sentenced to twenty years of satellite repair on board the prison barge, designated ‘Galaxy One.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update this fic every second/third day. Expect updates to come in slower after January 6th.


	2. Legs

It had been six months since the death of the Lord Commander. The crew of the _D.S.C. Horus_ had been taking on small jobs ever since. Ship-maintenance is not cheap, and the crew were effectively unemployed. With the galactic economy being what it was, they had to take on menial smuggling jobs. 

For a few weeks they smuggled high-quality parmesan from Earth to the diary mafia in the Galraxus system, just a few lightyears away from the North Star. For some reason, the aliens living there found parmesan to be highly addictive and mildly hallucinogenic. The parmesan smuggling trade was lucrative while it lasted, but their supplier was blown up by an Italian mob boss after their third delivery. 

Then the _Horus_ tried their hand at the express post service industry. The Universe Postal Service (UPS) paid them so poorly that the runs were barely worth it, and then there was that business with mis-delivering a package to the wrong planet. They were promptly fired, and another freelance delivery company stepped in to take over. 

In spite of all the kerfuffle, Avocato and Gary had the time of their lives. Each evening cycle aboard the ship, they would make food in the galley together. It turned out that Gary was actually a good cook, even if there had been a few missteps along the way. His Teriyaki souffle had been particularly… memorable. 

Avocato had to admit that Gary was a solid parental figure, even if he was a dork. Instead of following the Ventrexian tradition of focusing strictly on the development of martial disciplines, Gary tried his best to homeschool Little Cato. 

It was a disaster. Gary’s education had stalled out at a grade 6 level, so his ‘teaching’ swiftly devolved into pickpocket training. After a week or so, HUE stepped in and created a curriculum for Gary and Little Cato. Gary sulked, but he ended up taking the classes along with Little Cato. By the end of his first ‘semester’ Gary was reading at a high school level. 

Silvana decided to create a curriculum of her own. She created her own class, entitled “Mind-Torture and Meditation 101.” The contents of the course were simple. She would lead Avocato, Gary and Little Cato through meditation sessions, and then she would ‘lightly’ mind flay them. Apparently, minds can slowly build up a limited immunity to psychic attacks after a certain point. They had not made much progress, but the meditation training certainly helped with the nightmares resulting from the course material.

Avocato performed a dual cybernetic limb socket surgery on Gary a few weeks after the ‘incident’ but the prosthetics on board were crap. Avocato had been forced to manufacture carbon-fiber-reinforced polymer prosthetic blades for Gary--he had settled on them after researching dual-amputees from Earth. Gary spent chunks of his days following HUE’s rigorous physical therapy sessions, but it was difficult for him to walk on his prosthetic limbs for longer than an hour. 

Avocato had been near the ship’s lounge room when he had heard Little Cato and Gary talking about their hobbies, back before they had met. He’d been skulking around in the doorway when he overheard their conversation. 

“What did you do for fun, man? Like, before you became a professional hostage,” Gary had said. 

“I liked to fight, y’know?” Little Cato had said. “If I ever meet my clone, I want to win. You get it.” 

“Absolutely. What else?” Gary said. 

Little Cato sighed. “I never told anyone, not even my dad...but I also liked to draw.” 

Avocato froze in the doorway. Up until this point, he thought his son’s interests were martial-arts oriented. 

“My dad-his pens kept going missing, and he didn’t know why,” Cato said. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell him?” 

“It’s just--I don’t know, I just didn’t think he’d approve of it. Drawing, art, whatever… Male Ventrexians don’t do that stuff.” 

“Why not?” Gary said. 

“It’s just not what guys do,” Little Cato said. “And it isn’t a survival skill.” 

“So what? And plenty of guys on Earth are artists.” 

“We’re not on Earth-” 

“But your dad is dating me, isn’t he? What would Ventrexians think of two guys, together?” 

Little Cato thought about it for a moment. “They’d be fine with it, but you’re not Ventrexian, so…Ventrexians would definitely shun that kind of thing.” 

“Exactly. And there’s still a lot of people on Earth who would hate the idea of two guys being in a relationship, no matter where they come from,” Gary said. 

“Whoa, really?” 

“Yup.” 

“That’s pretty sad.” 

“Yeah, it’s a crap sandwich,” Gary said. “But that’s my point. If your dad is willing to do stuff that other Ventrexians wouldn’t approve of--”

“Like getting engaged to you?”

“Exactly! Why would he judge you for doing something that makes you happy?” 

Avocato smiled. He hadn’t realized that Gary had put so much thought into their relationship. It was also nice to know that Gary had faith in him. He wanted to step out from behind the doorway, but he didn’t want to ruin their moment. Of course, he couldn’t bring himself to step away either. 

“You know, I never thought about it like that,” Little Cato said. 

“When was the last time you drew something?” Gary said. 

“At least two years ago. I bet that I’m crap at it now.” 

“You’re probably not crap,” Gary said. “Cato...Can you draw something for me sometime? When you’re ready?” 

“Uh...sure,” he said sheepishly. 

For a moment, they were silent. 

“What did you like to do back on Earth?” Little Cato said. “For fun. Y’know, besides stealing stuff.” 

“I loved to dance,” Gary said. “I used to dance all the time. My Mum used to take me to lessons, right? Before she left. And dancing made me feel like she was still around.” 

“Oh.” 

“Back when I was still living on the street, I would always try to get into clubs so that I could learn new moves. I wanted to become a professional,” Gary said. “But there was never enough money.” 

“I’m sorry,” Little Cato said. “That sucks.” 

“I don’t regret how things turned out. If I had gone pro, I wouldn’t have met you or your dad.” 

“I guess…” 

“But I do miss dancing. It’s kind of hard without legs.” 

“Right.” 

Gary cleared his throat. He heard the soft clink of a glass touching the table--Avocato wondered if he had just had a drink or two. Generally it took a few beers for Gary to talk about his past. 

“You know what I regret the most?” Gary said. 

“Yeah?” 

“If I had to choose between walking or dancing again and saving your dad, I’d give up my legs every time...but I really wanted to dance with him, you know?” Gary said. “Some dances are just better with a partner.” 

Avocato couldn’t stand listening to the conversation anymore. It was just too raw. He ran into the ship’s washroom and had long crying session in the shower. 

The Ventrexian decided to create cybernetic limbs for Gary. It took him three months to put together a serviceable blueprint, another two months to get the parts together, and another month to build and install the legs. Avocato ended up installing Gary’s second pair of legs on his birthday. 

After a week or so of fine tuning the cybernetic legs, Avocato finally had his first dance with Gary. They settled on a slow waltz on the bridge.

“Avocato...Thanks,” Gary had said, as they slowly danced together. “For everything.” 

“It was nothing,” Avocato said, and he meant it. All that time was worth it. “After all...Some dances are just better with a partner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life is interfering and making progress on this fic a lot slower. Updates might have to appear once every five days now, as the workload of university is already upon me. 
> 
> The next chapters will have more plot, not just fluff. I'm getting there. As usual, I always appreciate your comments/feedback :)


	3. The Job

“Are we going to discuss how broke we are?” Little Cato said. 

The crew were having their family meal. On the menu for the next week and a half was black beans and rice, cooked in ‘Seven different ways.’ For the main course, it was black beans with cumin, pepper, salt, and a drizzle of Ventrexian sweet and sour sauce, served on a bed of yellow rice. Dessert was sweet red bean soup. 

“We are _not_ broke, as long as we have food to eat and a roof over our head,” Gary said. “I know what being broke is, and we’re not there yet.” 

Gary choked down another spoonful of beans and rice. He had to admit, this meal had tasted pretty awesome for the first week and a half… but when you’ve had the same dish for a month or so every evening, it gets kinda stale. Besides, they had nearly run out of cumin, cayenne, salt, pepper, butter, and tumeric. At this rate, they’d be eating beans with rice and salt in a few days. 

Little Cato halfheartedly pushed around the beans in his bowl. “I can’t believe we’ve got to eat this for another month.”

“It’s still delicious,” Avocato said stubbornly. His whiskers had a single black bean stuck on it. Gary resisted a primal urge to lick it off. 

“Got something on your face there,” Gary said, opting for the classier approach. 

“Thanks.” 

Silvana sighed. “We’re absolutely broke though. The _Horus_ needs maintenance work, and that’s months overdue. One of our engines has already burnt out, and we don’t have the parts to fix it. It’s a good thing I don’t eat food, so at least there’s that-” 

[Silvana is correct. We are destitute.] HUE said.

“Hooray for destitution!” KVN cried. 

“Fuck off, KVN,” the group chorused. 

[But seriously. Our situation is critical. We only have fuel for three more jumps.]

The crew had a moment of silence for the tragic loss of their financial security. 

“We need a plan,” Little Cato said. “A plan that ends with us eating steakfish in the lap of luxury.” 

“Ooh, ooh! I’ve got one,” Gary said. “What if...What if I stole a bunch of stuff from people again?” 

Avocato glared. “Remember that long talk we had together about going legit?” 

“Right--but is it a _crime_ to steal bread for my family?” Gary said. 

[It is absolutely a crime. That reminds me, Gary--I have now added Victor Hugo’s _Les Miserables_ to your required reading list as punishment. For how moronic you just were.] 

“Fuck! It’s short, right?”

[It is 1400 pages long.]

“WHAT?!” 

“He’s not in prison anymore, HUE. Cut him some slack,” Avocato said. “And Little Cato, stop playing with your food.” 

“You know, there is another thing we could do for cash,” Little Cato said, twirling a fork in his fingers. “Something we haven’t thought of yet.” 

“Which is?” Avocato said. 

“Sell the ship,” Little Cato said. 

“What.” 

[I do not like this plan.] HUE said. [But it might be our best option.]

“I like this ship,” Gary said. “It feels--it feels like home, guys. I don’t think I want to lose that again.” 

Avocato noticed that Gary’s shoulders had tensed throughout the conversation. He decided to cut the discussion short. 

“How about we sleep on it first?” he said. “It’s easier to make decisions in the morning.” 

“I don’t see how that’ll change anything,” Silvana said. “But if it helps you meatbags come to a decision, I’m all for it.” 

She left the room as a blast of purple steam, a telltale sign that she was annoyed by the delay. 

“Fine,” Little Cato said. He’d also twigged on to the fact that Gary did not want to deal with the whole ‘losing the ship’ thing right now. “I’ll, uh--see you tomorrow.” 

He left, leaving Avocato and Gary alone in the ship’s galley. 

“Look, Avo…” 

“I know,” Avocato said. He didn’t know what to say, so he began to collect the dishes. 

Gary stood up with him, doddering as the cheap processors in his legs scrambled to interpret the signals his brain was sending. 

They cleaned the dishes, and Gary was uncharacteristically silent during the process. Avocato wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but it didn’t feel right. The silence dragged on. 

Gary was drying the last bowl when he finally spoke. “We need to do something crazy.” 

Avocato blinked. “What do you mean?” 

“Aren’t you a bounty hunter? Swashbuckler, or whatever?” 

“Uhh--” 

“We need to get rich quick, and that means we need a job, Avocato! Even if it isn’t strictly...legal.” 

“Gary-” 

“If we sell the ship, then we’ll be stuck on some random space station, or planet, or _whatever._ And then what?” 

Avocato shrugged. “We could try to get jobs, or-”

“Dude, I don’t have any skills besides stealing stuff! And besides, don’t you have a lot of enemies?” 

“Yeah, but-” 

“How many bounties do you have on your head right now, man?” 

Avocato’s ears flicked out to the sides. He looked like a cat that had been freshly spritzed with a spray bottle. 

“Probably a lot of bounties, right? How long do you think we could stay in one place before we would be, y’know--” Gary pantomimed having his brains blown out with a finger-gun. 

Avocato grit his teeth. “I can handle whatever the universe throws at us.” 

“Until we run out of cash with no ship to get away,” Gary said. “We can’t sell the ship, man. We need another plan--even if it’s some kind of hare-brained, get rich quick scheme-” 

Avocato’s eyes widened. “That’s it!” 

The Ventrexian ran out of the room at a full tilt, leaving Gary behind in the dust.

Gary attempted to run after him, but stumbled and fell on the floor. “Right. Running is off the menu. Fuck.” 

[Avocato is headed for the bridge, Gary.] 

“These legs are garbage, HUE. Absolute garbage!” 

By the time Gary had caught up to Avocato in the bridge (three agonizingly slow minutes of robot leg shuffling later), the Ventrexian was in the middle of a call with someone that he had never seen before. 

The alien on the screen was incredibly short, green, and booger shaped. It wore orange goggles and a red ascot, and it was-

“What’s that deformed _primate_ doing on your ship?” the booger shaped alien said. 

“Primate?” Gary sputtered. 

“Don’t worry about it, Clarence. He’s… He’s a friend,” Avocato said. 

“Very well. I _do_ happen to have a job for you,” Clarence said. “And if we pull it off, we will become _fabulously_ wealthy…” 

“Great. So we’ve got a deal?” Avocato said. 

“Yes, we do. So, all you need to do is grab this ittle widdle doo-dad, a certain ‘Nymerian Cube’ from this highly guarded vault on Alpha Centauri…” 

Gary felt a pit in his stomach. He could feel that this job was going to suck--he felt it in the cockles of his phantom leg bones. He had a bad feeling about this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short setup chapter, guys. I know it's been a long wait without much happening, but I've been settling into my university term. It's been a hectic start to the semester, but things will quiet down soon enough. 
> 
> I'll probably update this fic by next Thursday with a longer chapter :)


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